Ambling in from the tenth division, inspired by real events.
The girl with the argyle socks serenaded her way into the space between the heel of my shadow and the back of my soles. She pushed me down a path lined with faded newspaper clippings and cocktail napkins, at least they looked like cocktail napkins. Thin, square-shaped little things. She kept me marching down, down, down towards a boulder that was smoother than the others around it. The girl with the argyle socks boosted me up and there I sank. My back was pressed against the faintly damp and startlingly cool surface. She shoved my pancake-scented hands underneath the coccyx. Hunger and thirst weighed down my eyelids. When I opened them again, I was no longer on that big rock. When I opened my eyes, I was in another life.
It felt like another life. I was standing just inside the entrance of a market. I watched people pushing wagons and dragging wicker baskets. I stood facing the doors, waiting for someone to appear. Minutes passed and the only person that walked in was a law enforcement agent. He blocked out the sun that had been idling in the horizon. Just two steps into the gigantic warehouse and I was unable to see outside. He saw that I was looking at him. As he walked further inside, in my direction, he suddenly smiled. The corners of his mouth turned up and his concentrated, crystalline blue gaze softened to convey a momentary lapse in authoritative intimidation.
The dream would end when I looked down and found a dozen peach roses bundled and resting in my hands. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw roses. They smelled heavenly. If serenity and certainty could be bottled, I’d have taken those roses right out of my vicariously seasoned reverie.